


Veneer

by Lythlyra



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-28
Updated: 2012-02-28
Packaged: 2017-10-31 21:13:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/348419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lythlyra/pseuds/Lythlyra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The drinks flow freely. Before long, Varric's suite is pleasantly warm, pleasantly loud, pleasantly familiar. (Fenris/Anders slash)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Veneer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cypheroftyr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cypheroftyr/gifts).



> Cypheroftyr prompted this when I was taking milestone requests on Tumblr.
> 
> "If you are still taking milestone prompts. Fenris/Anders... Smile. Anders does something to make Fenris smile."

The drinks flow freely. Before long, Varric's suite is pleasantly warm, pleasantly loud, pleasantly familiar.

What is once a game of cards is now devolving into round after round of tales, some more fanciful than others and some far too outlandish to be anything but true, if Varric is to be believed.

Fenris doesn't care to decipher the nuances, to guess at what is embellishment and what simply _is_ as it's told, but he listens between pulls of cheap wine -- more water or burn than taste, a characteristic of all Hanged Man swill -- and begins to arrange the forgotten deck of cards.

"And he shuffles with the spiky gauntlets _on_ , too. I wonder what else he does with them," Fenris hears Isabela say, propping her chin in her palm and winking over at him.

There is something eluding him, lost among Varric's boisterous story of Orlesian traditions, and he isn't certain if he should ask for clarification.

Isabela is many things. Predictable isn't one of them.

She proves that effortlessly enough, simply by who answers her. "Funny. I thought they were just an extension of his shining, prickly personality."

The mage. His sarcasm doesn't rankle how it could, how it should; there is a flush in Fenris' cheeks from the wine, an easiness to the air from the company that he doesn't always indulge, and he finds the edges of his mouth curling in response, unbidden and distracted.

"Don't call for a demonstration if you're unprepared for one, mage."

What seems to startle Anders most isn't the lack of bite, of venom, but the inscrutable smirk that has yet to fade.

Fenris observes, with some satisfaction, that the mage fights off an answering smile all his own.


End file.
